Aphelion: a Case Study
by hxlxx
Summary: Link is a young detective in Skyloft City working for SkyCorp, the world's largest investigation firm. Put bluntly, he's got quite a bit on his hands. Between government conspiracies, abandoned ships at sea, and going undercover into the root of it all, he might not have time to get the nihilistic, persistent and sadistic terrorist Ghirahim out of his hair (which is probably good).
1. Exordium

_Copyright disclaimer: I pinky promise that I do not own the Legend of Zelda franchise or anything related to it respectively. Do you think I have enough money for that? Fat chance, sister. You're funny._

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

In an insignificant and nameless place sits an insignificant and nameless child reading a rather significant book that, coincidentally, has a name. As the nameless adolescent flips the pages yellowed and falling apart with age, a sudden stop occurs. Eyes catch the angelic figure of a hero, thrusting his sword toward the heavens against many malevolent foes. "Is it a moving picture book?" the child wonders. No, they reckon. It is much too old for such an innovation. With wide eyes and a mouth to match, the juvenile watches in wonder as our hero, clad in green, strikes down his enemies. The youngster does not understand why he begins to sob as the hero suddenly vanishes from the pages. Confused, the young child shuts the book, revealing a worn cover embellished with a silver triangle, made of three others: a triforce.

Time is strange, don't you agree?

**CHAPTER 1:** Exordium

"Detective, take a look at this," a quiet voice piped up barely withholding the disgust and pulling me from my thoughts, though only slightly. The mid-summer heat made me feel lightheaded, and I had to close my eyes for a moment to let the spell of dizziness pass. Fledge ran up to me, seemingly unfazed by the oppressing heat of the city. The other detectives investigating the scene rolled their eyes in distaste as he passed. He held up a small plastic bag with a dismembered finger covered in almost-dry blood and turned to Karane, asking her to check off the next item on our list. His voice quavered, as if he were on the verge of tears. She made a face at him and huffed, annoyed by his behavior. "Could you act any more like a teenage girl, Fledge? We aren't here to dress up and play pretend. We're here to find the remains of a dismembered corpse. If you didn't want to be involved in these things, you shouldn't have signed up for the job. You are a forensic scientist. If you're going to vomit, I will find you a bucket. _Get it together_." Fledge nodded nimbly and murmured something like an apology. "Now," Karane said, "Go and find the other parts or we'll be here again next week looking for you." As she said this, a few normal citizens of Skyloft City passed by, and all did a double-take, but continued walking. It was evident in their posture that they were confused. Fledge made as if he were about to speak but Karane sighed like she was exasperated beyond repair, checked a box off the list on her clipboard, and turned back to the rubble of the building.

A's Castle for Wayward Women was an old two-story building in the historic district of Skyloft City. The founder, a woman who went by the pseudonym A, took in prostitutes, drug addicts, sickly and homeless women. Naturally, when they come to her they are still tangled in with their pasts and bring a myriad of trouble. A young single mother was classified as missing for three weeks, and someone found an ear in the trash bin and a toe in the china cabinet. After the detectives of SkyCorp were enlisted to investigate the case, it was ascertained that the missing woman had indeed been severed into almost unrecognizable pieces. While the forensics team tried to find any kind of evidence of the killer, Zelda, the CEO of SkyCorp, had her best detectives search for the remaining pieces through the rubble of the castle. It had been abandoned the day before it collapsed into the ground from age and there was no trace of A or her Wayward Women.

When the sun had begun to set and the humidity in the air dropped, leaving the city chilling under its sweat, all of the missing body parts, save for the right eye of the woman—which was said to have been stabbed out with a fork—were found. During our search, we found bloody rags, a baseball bat, and a variety of torture weapons. The list of suspects was narrowed down to the victim's boyfriend and A, the founder of the Castle for Wayward Women, though there were many opinions as there was a group of detectives all with different virtues. As we were walking back to SkyCorp headquarters, their whispers did not evade me: "I can't believe Boss makes us work together in a group every other month. What the hell? The superiors should have given us the good positions."

"I agree," someone whispered, holding in laughter. "They're probably too busy having their heads stuck up their asses to do anything about it though."

Next to me, Karane was mumbling curses under her breath and absolutely brooding. When we arrived in the office, she took the elevator in an angry rush, shoved her clipboard at Fledge when she got to her floor, and disappeared before the doors closed again. The next twenty-something floors the elevator passed consisted of Fledge and I in silence while he fidgeted with his box of evidence and I stood with my hands in my pants pockets. He kept opening and closing his mouth as if he had something to say. "Link," he finally said, just as the elevator stopped on Boss' floor. I exited the elevator, turned, and smiled at him. "Yes?" He seemed flustered, and began to sputter out incoherent fragments of sentences. He looked at everything but me, but the doors began to close. "I—" he began as the doors shut with some sort of finality.

Two knocks on the tall wooden doors elicited a strong "Enter" from those on the other side. I pushed the heavy oak open and walked into Zelda's office.

There were rumors about Boss, but the least terrifying one was about her office. A popular myth about SkyCorp was that the reason the only chair in the president's office was behind her desk was because she never invited people in for talks more than two minutes. Fledge told me this on one of the many days he sat in my office and ate lunch, uninvited.

"Link," the president said with a polite smile. She sat with her back to the nighttime city, and, her personal bodyguard Impa stood next to her, almost completely still.  
"Well?" She said, skipping the formalities. "Results?"  
"The evidence will be completely analyzed by tomorrow."  
"Any ideas on the identity of the murderer?"  
"No, I've already solved it," I said simply.  
"Great. Have it filed by next month. I will have Fi brief you on your next case. Have a nice night."

I began to leave, but heard Impa whispering furiously into the president's ear. I stopped and turned to Impa. "It was her son," I said. "The eight-year old." I left, with Impa's confused voice trailing behind me.

We were a rather unorthodox operation.

* * *

The moment the front doors of SkyCorp closed behind me, my phone began ringing loudly. I hurriedly rummaged through my pockets to pick it up, though I had no need to rush. The only person that I would ever get a call from is my secretary Fi, who was the only person with my phone number. I found my phone in my back pocket and flipped it open. "Here is your debriefing, sir," Fi said immediately. "Good evening," I said cheerily. She continued. "We have gained a few leads on the drug bust that was up for investigation," she said monotonously.

"I thought Stritch and Cawlin were going to investigate?" I said, beginning to walk in the direction of my apartment complex. "And I also heard that they weren't moving for a few months," I said, leaning down at the crosswalk to tighten the shoelaces of my Oxford shoes while I waited for cars to pass. "This is true," she said simply. I straightened up as I hadn't noticed the presence of two young men standing behind me. They had a strange feel about them, as if they were laughing. However, they were in a heated argument. "It's not that big of a freaking deal," the one on my left said. He was much calmer than the man on my left, who shouting almost incoherently. The timbre of his voice was somewhat familiar, but I couldn't place it. The light changed and we all walked across the street. I kept a leisurely pace and they walked past me, still arguing. The man on the left bumped shoulders with me and turned back. "Sorry," he said with an apologetic smile. "No problem," I said. "Boss, we're late as it is!" the other man shouted.

He turned back around and said "See you later" over his shoulder, picking up his pace to catch up with his apparent subordinate.

I continued walking, watching them as they disappeared around a corner and brought my phone to my ear. I had subconsciously put it in my pocket when I sensed the two men behind me. "Fi?"  
"To answer your question more thoroughly, our predictions indicate they will act in four months."  
"Is it the South?" I asked.  
"We think so. Opium."  
"I figured."  
"When you gather sufficient evidence, report to the intelligence department. The company would like you to continue on your other open cases as this one is extensive."  
"I understand. Thank you."  
"Be sure to eat protein, sir."

"Yes, yes, thank you, Fi." She hung up then, and I put my phone in my back pocket. Fi was the best secretary I'd ever had, and the only one. Before she started working for me, I took all of my calls and organized all my cases, but work was much easier with her in charge of everything technical. I was grateful I found her in the alleyway in the drenching rain, clutching a sheathed sword that she would later give to me with a cryptic phrase like, "This was always yours." I never asked any questions about her life before she came to Skyloft, and she certainly didn't answer. Somehow, she always knew where I was and what my physical health was like, and had incredibly accurate premonitions about things that hadn't happened yet. She didn't speak much at first, after I found her a place to live and set her up a job as my secretary, she quickly became acclimated—that isn't to say that she was a very talkative person, of course...

I stopped at the convenience store before going home and picked up a carton of milk, two Snickers bars, two pears, and a twenty-four pack of water. The cashier looked at me like I was crazy when I easily plopped the water on my shoulder and held it up with one hand. I gave her extra change on purpose and walked the rest of the way back home, whistling a song I'd heard once in my youth.

* * *

My apartment was small, quiet, and nondescript. It was on the second floor, not too high for when the need arose for me to jump out of the window.  
And the need had arisen more than you'd think.  
The features of my studio apartment were as thus: a small kitchen, a mattress, a wooden desk, a living room where it sat, a rolling office chair, a wooden chair, a closet, an empty bedroom, a bathroom, and a window in which I was immensely proud of and spent much of my time in front of. Of course, there were a few other things, but I figure they aren't important enough to share (unless, of course, you'd like to know how many pairs of boxers I have). The picture window took up one half of the wall, and it faced the city streets. I spent hours seated in my wooden chair, watching the world turn beneath my feet; today was no exception. The clear sky had given way to a heavy downpour and the people of the city ran around frantically trying to find cover until the streets were only dotted with people smart enough to bring umbrellas. There were a few brave souls who went out with nothing but hoods, hands, or briefcases, scurrying their way down the street. Watching the citizens of a place I love so much, my mind wandered back to those two men I'd seen earlier:

_who are you  
who  
walks with a cadence like  
a rioting  
song in a  
calming timbre  
back curved like  
you've  
got nothing to do  
and  
nowhere to  
go  
but  
could it  
be  
that you've  
done everything and  
been everywhere?_

I watched the rain until the sun rose and the clouds cleared, and still, they were on my mind.

* * *

_**Author's note**_: Hello, dear shippers of Ghiralink! My name's unimportant (aka hxlxx, pronounce it as you will) but I'm here to make you happy. Or something. I don't really like AU fanfics, would you believe that? And here I am. Writing a fanfic by request of my best friend. What a world. Anyway, I'm hoping to make this 100 chapters (and I promise longer chapters, I just suck at beginnings which is why this is so short) and have at least 8 sex scenes already planned out. Be psyched. Be very psyched. I was planning on having one song per chapter for a character that I randomly pick (out of Link and Ghirahim), so any declinations? I accept all kinds of feedback! Especially hate mail. Sometimes a gal needs a good cry. I'm going to figure out a schedule for when I post chapters. Thank you for reading, and happy holidays!


	2. I love you, Skyloft

_Copyright disclaimer: I'll say this again. I have no money. I do not own the Legend of Zelda chain or anything associated with it other than this fanfiction. And that Ghirahim body pillow coming in the mail... Teehee._

* * *

**Chapter 2:** I love you, Skyloft

Skyloft City was incredibly large, but not many people owned cars as the public transportation system was revered for its cleanliness, safety, and care for the general public. The people that owned cars were mostly bigshot corporate people that liked to flaunt their money. Not many people came or left the city, as it was difficult to do so: it was surrounded by mountains on all sides, and outside of the mountains were treacherous areas that had been unexplored for decades.

Though we had a great transportation system, I usually took the train or bus once a week interchangeably, and then only because I hoped to hear about gossip throughout the city that could potentially lead to the solving of a case. Most people were completely open to sharing all of the gory details of their lives with just about anyone with ears.  
"Afternoon, detective," said one of the many aged but capable women of Skyloft, on her way to her day job as the public librarian. Her hours were Monday through Wednesday and from ten o'clock to three, but she always complained, "They think I'm some kind of stale, crusty piece of bread. I can't believe they don't let me come in more than this—especially when I have to come from Central all the way to East!"  
Skyloft City was divided into five districts, all distinctly different: North, South, East, West, and Central. Central was the main hub of the city that connected the other districts, a kind of hodgepodge of every area's culture muddled together. There were two libraries in Skyloft City: Skyloftian Library of our Great Hylia, which was mostly classical Hylian literature and the rich history of Skyloft, which was in the East. The second library was in the southern district, and was named Modern Library of Skyloft. It had more recent literature, and it had become a place where youth from South hung out regularly.  
"This is my stop," the librarian said. "There's a lecture on Sunday on Nehru's courage in the three part series on creation if you want to stop by. I'm sure the crowd will be much more lively if we have a hunky detective in our midst," she smiled.  
I nodded. "I'll attend." She waved and got off of the train. "Starts at 11:30, or else the old people will be late for dinner," she laughed as the doors closed.

I stayed on the train until the end of the line, and then I switched trains and stayed until the end of that line as well—visiting every district in the city, I lent my ear to many of the citizens of Skyloft, people of all shapes, sizes, and lifestyles, but none had any nagging suspicions about anything. The city was in a camelot of sorts, and a question rang in my head: what are people like me to do when there is nothing for us to do? A sort of aimlessness found its way into my bones, and I walked around the city, guiltily hoping for something to investigate.  
"Detective," Fi said with a hint of surprise in her voice, as I rarely called her because she was prone to go off on tangents and then rarely speak at all. "Are there any cases for me?"  
"There are only minor ones, and Zelda would like you to focus on major cases for now."  
"I see," I said, tactfully concealing the disappointment I was feeling.  
"Perhaps you could go home for the night. It is already eight thirty. And eat a balanced dinner, sir." Fi always reminded me to sleep the recommended amount of time every night and eat a proper serving of food, but I rarely had time to do either.  
"Perhaps I will," I replied, and she hung up. I walked in the direction opposite of my apartment.

Still walking, I went to a public park in Central. It was deserted, as most would be at that time of night, and there was a kind of eeriness in the way the wind gently blew the swings back and forth. I heard a rustling behind me and instinctively swung my leg backwards and turned I'm one quick movement. My foot connected with something and sent it to the ground, with a surprised oh. It sounded like a voice I'd heard many times. "Is that any way to greet your beloved informant?"  
"Detective Howell?"  
"Yes, sans the 'detective' title," he replied, reaching out for his hand. I pulled him up and he brushed himself off. "You still kick like hell," he said, rubbing his stomach. His demon cat Mia growled from his shoulder. "But it's my fault for trying to surprise you. Lollipop?" He tossed me a cherry-flavored Blow Pop and walked towards a park bench. I followed.  
"It isn't good for defenseless, pretty young girls like you to be out this late," he said, plopping down on the bench. It was right under a streetlamp, so we could both see the area surrounding us. He was smirking and smoking.  
"Especially when creepy old men like you are out and about," I added bluntly.  
He ignored the comment. "Any information you want?"  
"Any that you've got?"  
Howell was once the top detective at SkyCorp and had been promoted to the Chairman of Criminal Psychology, and also worked as a teacher for new trainees. At some point, every person starting at SkyCorp was educated by Howell. I was one of those trainees and looked up to him immensely; he cared for each of his students just the same and didn't hold back any information from us. He'd solved cases I couldn't dream of even working on and was always smiling even considering his line of work. The day I finished my training, though, he came to me, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, "Things aren't right here." There was a strange tone to his voice and a look in his eyes I'd never seen before—regardless, he resigned that day. Since then, he'd become a chain-smoking bum of an informant. I always saw him smoking on some park bench with Mia on his shoulder, someplace, no matter the time of day. He didn't charge me for information which was the only reason I went to see him.  
"You seem like quite the restless detective, Link," he said, with that smirk that was once a benevolent smile. "I guess you didn't learn anything on your rounds today? That man on the green line sure talked a lot, though..."  
I didn't question the fact that he knew what I did all day. As an information gatherer, his methods of receiving information were beyond me.  
"Even if you didn't learn anything, more things are happening these days than usual." He took a long drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out in a slow stream that dispersed into the sky. I unwrapped the lollipop he gave me earlier and started sucking on it.  
"I think I should start with the least important stuff: there have been reports of government-issued cell phones being hacked. Messages sent, emails read, etc. Probably some dumb high school kids with computers and time. Interested?"  
I shook my head and took the cherry lollipop from my mouth to see if it'd gotten any smaller, then returned it to its rightful place.  
He continued. "There was also a family in the South that died from being knocked out with mild sedatives in their food and then set on fire. They think the youngest daughter did it. She's thirteen... This is more my kind of thing then yours."  
"Then why don't you go and solve it," I muttered under my breath. I always resented the fact that such a great detective had left SkyCorp. He kept talking, unabashed.  
"The interesting thing about this case is that even though the daughter is accused, she had burn scars all down her back that were old, like she'd been burned before. They're only accusing her because she was the one person in the family left. They have her in solitary confinement... A thirteen year old. I'd love to examine her psyche." Howell was always passionate about criminal psychology. "They're probably going to leave the case open, though, because the state doesn't know what to do with her." He took another drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out, then threw it in the trash can next to the bench.  
"You said these were the least important?"  
"Yes." He paused. "Do you like your job?" I nodded. "Then I won't tell you the important stuff."  
I let out an exasperated breath and looked at my watch. "Goodnight, girlie. Look out for creepy old men like me," he said.  
"Thanks for the candy, and stop loitering around public areas," I said, pulling out a clean lollipop stick from my mouth and standing. Mia made a move for my face.  
"Yessir," he said, and saluted me, but made no move to leave. I walked away.

It was now ten o'clock, and I walked with no destination for another hour. At some point, I started to feel eyes on my back; wide, decisive, all-seeing eyes scratching at my skin. I thought I heard footsteps behind me every few minutes, but when I turned, there was no one behind me. The city was near deserted, and I couldn't help but think that I was being paranoid. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I jumped, then laughed awkwardly when I realized it was just Fi. She sent me a three word text message: _Go home now_. I replied with a lengthy text about the information Howell had given me and asked if she could look into either, and she replied with I will get back to you in the morning. I suppose that was her way of telling me to go to sleep, so I walked in the direction of my apartment.  
The footsteps started up again, and those unblinking eyes were tickling my neck with their eyelashes. Pure paranoia slid its way down my throat, and I picked up my pace, more and more until I was sprinting at full speed to my apartment. I ran out of stamina fairly quickly, though, so at one block away, I collapsed against a wall, breathing heavily. The thick night air mingled in my lungs until I could breathe again. Then, I heard very clearly, "What are you running from?" Pure adrenaline replaced my blood and pumped thought my veins as I frantically looked around. I stood slowly and placed my hand on the gun in the waistband of my pants. I stood like that for ten minutes, waiting for that voice to say something else. I walked back to my apartment after that and locked all six locks on my door and made sure to set the alarm. I felt more secure after that, though my body felt heavy from the adrenaline rush. I took off my suit jacket and tried to stay awake as I watched the night turn violet, but I found myself dozing off, sitting in my wooden chair.

* * *

The next morning, I got a call from Fi telling me that I was needed at the office. Pushing the events of the previous night from my mind, I took a very cold shower to rid myself of the dissatisfying sleep and my lingering grogginess and headed out.  
I usually visited the SkyCorp office once or twice a month, either to turn in multiple case files at once or to partake in the mandatory bi-monthly team investigations. I was rarely called into the office because I was given more freedom as a part of my deal with Zelda to work in the firm. When I got there, it was rather early in the morning, so only a few early risers were in the building. As I ascended to the floor where the secretaries worked, right above the five floors of security, my phone buzzed. I decided to check it later as I walked to Fi's desk. "To her office," she said, not looking up from her computer. She was typing at a terrifying speed, and I didn't want to disturb her. I walked back to the elevator, looking back once at all of the rows of empty cubicles.  
I took the elevator all the way up to Zelda's floor. I walked down the familiar hallway and didn't have to knock—come in, a distinctly female voice said. Boss was again sitting as a silhouette, her back to the morning. Impa was standing expressionless, off to the side. "Fi informed us of your interest in a case," Boss said immediately as I walked in. "The burn victims in the south." I nodded. "Pipit is working on it," she said, putting her elbows on her desk, "but I would like you to help him with it, as he is open to assistance."  
"Yes, ma'am."  
"My, you're more stiff than usual today."  
"Shall I brief him, milady?" Impa bent over and spoke into Zelda's ear, her eyes cast down. Boss shook her head.  
"Detective Pipit would like you to meet him at a restaurant, Fi will give you the address. She'll share the information you need."  
"Thank you."  
"Have a nice day," Boss said with a smile, then turned to the papers on her desk. I walked out and checked my phone. I didn't have a message from Fi yet, but I did have a voicemail from an unknown number, though I did not remember getting a call. "Detective Link of SkyCorp Investigation Firm, a Skyloftian," it started. "Blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, 5"4', impeccable strength." The voice was incredibly high pitched, as if the sound was tampered with. "Blood type O, nineteen years old, left-handed. He looks so cute in this picture, right?" A deeper voice answered, "Yes, definitely," though it still sounded high pitched. "So cute that I want to lock him up." The voicemail ended there, and I stared at my phone. It piped up as I received a message from Fi telling me where to meet Pipit. I figured the message was probably a prank caller that dialed a random number, because I had an untraceable, no-contract cell that only Fi had any kind of access to. I put it out of my mind.

Pipit had wanted to meet outside of the Lumpy Pumpkin, a popular restaurant in Central. It was a five minute walk from SkyCorp, and when I got there, he was standing with two plastic cups in his hands with dark orange liquid and ice in them. "Mornin', Link," he said cheerily, handing me a cup. "Good morning. I look forward to working with you."  
"No need for the formalities. Anyway, try that, it's really good. Iced pumpkin spice latte, they were trying out something new before autumn starts." I took a sip, and tried not to smile. I never liked the bitterness coffee, but it was sweet and the cinnamon-like taste of the pumpkin spice was a good balance for the cold drink itself. "Alright, let's talk about this," Pipit said. He started walking down the street as the city began to wake up.  
Pipit became the head homicide detective at SkyCorp when Howell left. He was a great detective and usually worked alone, like me, I was surprised he was okay with me working with him. "The police wanted to use pseudonyms for the names of the family members, because they were pretty big in politics. They're the Oriola family. We're supposed to keep this quiet." I nodded and took a sip of my latte. "Two Wednesdays ago, July sixteenth at approximately 7:34 PM, a neighbor said there was smoke coming out of one of the windows of the house and called the police to complain. Around 7:52, the police arrived, which is pretty slow if you ask me. They said that they burst in and they had to walk around a bit to find them, but they were in the basement. The whole family was laying on their stomachs, cuts on their backs, up in flames. The daughter wasn't, though. She was tied up in the corner, crying—oh, we're here."

I looked up and there stood something incredible.

* * *

_**Author's note: **_Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Things escalated quickly. Hope you're liking it so far... I wanted to give a VERY special thank you to FrostStick, who wrote the very first review of _Aphelion: a Case Study_ and was also the first follower! As I've said before, I take all kinds of feedback. This shindig is lacking the voices of the people.  
I probably should have put this in the preview because it affects whether or not people read... So here are all the elements making this thing rated M, in an ugly little list:  
-Sexual content (is that what I'm supposed to call it?)  
-Sex with dubious consent  
-Attempted rape  
-Violence  
-Ghirahim  
-Whatever they call excessive cursing in movies  
-Ghirahim  
-More sexual content haha  
-Bad jokes  
-Ghirahim's comments  
-Link being a tsundere

...You know, just things you don't want your kids to see, bad influences for children and old people. Stuff that makes me feel bad writing about but I write about anyway.

Update: Let's put things in perspective... As a writer, I might be a bit self-deprecating, but the first version of this chapter sucked. So I rewrote it! Hurrah. Sorry for the inconvenience, but could we agree this chapter is written better (for those that saw version one?) Also. I AM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE! Major family crisis. It's resolved now, though. We're good. So, I'm going to try and get more organized about this... Way more organized about this. First, I'm going to write a schedule for when I'm going to post chapters (eventually). I'm going to stop procrastinating about writing more chapters (eventually). Definitely going to get some Ghirahim involved (but not next chapter. SOON). Alright, please continue to put up with my eccentricities for now~ thanks for reading! All kinds of feedback and hate mail welcome. New chapter tomorrow!


	3. Complications of a Certain Winged Family

**_Copyright disclaimer_****: **Oi, I've told you twice already... I don't own the Legend of Zelda franchise. I've never even been to Hyrule.

* * *

Chapter 3: The Complications of a Certain Winged Family

As we walked to the house of the "Oriola" family, I imagined an unrecognizable heap of ash and a distinct smell of smoke. However, when Pipit and I arrived at the house, I was near speechless. It was behind a gate with lush green grass even in the summer hear and vibrant flowers surrounding the driveway. Pipit walked up to the gate and pressed a button. "Whaddaya want," squawked a voice on the intercom, though it was more of a command than a question. "Detective Pipit back for more investigation," Pipit answered. The black metal gate scratched across the ground as it slowly opened. As we walked further into the property, scenarios popped into my head. Before we even started, I had an idea. The house—or, better put, mansion, was located in the eastern district, and thickly surrounded by trees. None of them were burnt. The mansion itself looked too modern for its surroundings: it was all angles, glass and greyscale: sharp, colorless lines against vivid green curves that shake in the wind. "The fire didn't spread from the basement?" I asked.  
"Oh, just wait until you see it." We came upon the front door of the mansion. It was made of matted glass that had been tinted black, and there were large triangular windows on either side. A burly man stood in front with a severe face and three-piece suit. "I hope you'll be done by today," he said angrily as he turned and slid the black door aside. Pipit stepped in, and I followed. "He's the Oriola's butler," Pipit said.

"Since I haven't seen you before, let me give you some background information," said the butler as if he had better things to do. "This guy—" he said, shoving his thumb over his back at Pipit as we followed him through the house, "knows all of the real names, so I'll just leave those out. The head of the family is... was working for the Skyloft government. He married his secretary a month after divorcing his first wife, with whom he'd had a child with—she's the only person left in the family. His secretary had three kids, two boys, one aged sixteen and one twenty-two, and a daughter who was twenty-five. His real daughter was treated like an outsider. They found her—"  
"With all due respect, sir, we have this information already," Pipit politely interrupted.  
The butler grunted in reply. "Fine."  
After we'd walked through the entire maze, we were led to a door just like the one in front of the house. "The basement." He slid the door open and walked away. "Why isn't he in custody yet?" Pipit said to himself, and flipped out his phone, texted a message quickly, then put his phone back in his pocket. "To the belly of the beast," he said.

The stairwell was dark, and at the bottom, Pipit flipped a switch and then everything was a blinding, clinical white. The ground and walls were pure white marble panels, and the ceiling was opaque glass. There were ashes in irregular shapes on the ground and some on the glass ceiling. I counted five large dark spots in an almost straight line and figured that was the family. "Everything points to the daughter," Pipit said.  
"It wasn't her," I answered immediately. "But please share the information." Pipit nodded and handed me his journal, titled "FIELD NOTES". His handwriting was almost beyond incoherent, but I understood the gist of it:

_Scratches in the shape of wings cut into backs of family members. Covered in gasoline and burnt to death. Found in fetal position, estimated time of death all at or around 7:46, two hours before the neighbor called police. Third degree burns almost to the bone, had been burning for hours. Daughter had similar markings on her back but was tied up in the corner and found unconscious. Gasoline cans found under her bed and an entry in her diary a week before saying, "If we were all angels, we wouldn't fight anymore. They wouldn't hurt me anymore."_

I looked at the glass door that led to the basement. It was airlocked, and there were no windows anywhere. The door was the only way to the basement. There was no lighter found in the girl's room. "I'm going to visit the neighbor, and then I'm going to visit the girl," I said to Pipit.  
"Okay," Pipit said, because I wasn't the kind of person to work with other people in the first place.

The walk to their neighbor's house took me six minutes through the woods. It was a single-family sized house and had a large front porch, and on the front sat an aged woman smoking. When she saw me, she stubbed her cigarette and pulled a large knife out of her boot, pointing it at me. "Their daughter came to you because you were the closest thing to a mother she had, and you were angry that her own family hurt her. She came to you every day, didn't she? You worked with her father under the government, you were a colleague. Her stepbrothers cut her back, I saw the razor blades in their desks. She told you about her dream of being an angel—"  
"She was being so mistreated!" she interrupted with a strained voice.  
"So you decided to kill her whole family. You used one of your many lighters and set them on fire. But do you know what you did by putting gasoline cans under her bed? She's in a psychiatric hospital, she's been accused of murdering her entire family. She'll never be accepted into society again. That makes you no better than the family that mistreated her. You're under arrest." She took the blade and pushed it into her lower stomach. Blood steadily dripped down the handle. "That won't kill you," I said, and she groaned as police cars showed up. I'd called them on the walk over. She coughed, "How long did it take you to figure it out? Ten minutes? I'd spent a year planning it. A means to an end," she said. "How simple our minds are."

I speak the most when confronting the accused, and then offered a few sentences here and there at all other times. Someone told me once that the only needed speech was truth, and I always gave the perpetrators their truths; it was both their resolve and mine, so they could move on and so I wouldn't dwell on the lives that I'd changed.

The only living daughter of the Oriola family began to cry when I told her who killed her family. She told me everything about her family, from her dad divorcing her mom to his marriage with the archetypal evil stepmother. When he remarried, he started acting mean towards her and neglected her, as did the rest of the family. He took her to work one day and met his colleague who gave her candy and said she was very smart and pretty. They became something like a mother and daughter duo, with the girl constantly suffering through the abuse of her family, until they were all murdered. When I left the building, I saw Howell leaning against the wall. He nodded at me, and I nodded at him. I couldn't help but wonder after everything was over about what that woman had said. "How simple our minds are." My mind began to span larger things, like the psychological motivation behind the crimes of the many people I'd put in jail and how their lives were affected by it. Then I had to stop, because a wave of deep-rooted guilt began to wash over me. I pushed the wave back. Don't think about it, I said in my head, and I started humming to keep my mind off of it.  
"You solved it too quickly," Pipit said after we regrouped. Regardless, he patted me on the back and smiled. I smiled back.

I walked around the city all of that week, helping people with menial tasks like finding lost dogs, giving directions, and carrying groceries. I received thanks, handshakes, hugs, praise. On Sunday I visited the Skyloftian Library of our Great Hylia to attend the lecture on Farore's Courage. The speaker was a professor at the Golden School of Farore, which trained students in many kinds of fighting styles as well as philosophies and a goddess-fearing religion. It was one of three schools that celebrated the three Golden Goddesses. "Courage," she started. "What is courage? Where does it come from?" A student sitting in the near-empty first row raised his hand. "Farore," he said with a posture of surety. "Yes and no," the professor said. "It starts with the goddess Farore, yes, but the rest of it comes from what you believe in. If you have nothing to motivate you, no virtues, you won't have courage. It comes from the heart." She then went into the history of the Golden Goddess Farore, and I left with much more knowledge than I'd entered with. "Thank you for coming," the librarian said to me as I stopped by her desk. Nayru's Wisdom is next week, and we have a scholar and a poet coming from the Golden School of Nayru. Care to come?"  
"Yes," I answered, and she replied, "see you then."

Eyes were blinking on my back no matter where I went. I didn't speak for three days, didn't sleep for three days, and was not assigned any cases. After my three days of restlessness, I got a call from Fi. "There's a case for you, and the Intelligence Division wants you on it. It's big. It will take a few months to prepare for. You'll need to come into the office twice a week and go straight to Intelligence, but on the days you are not at the office, you should still work on other cases. Do you accept?"  
"Yes," I said.

"Good morning, detective," said Keet, who worked in intelligence. He was prone to just lazing around, but he could wipe your name off of everything. The intelligence office was above Zelda's office and below the forensics labs. It was two floors, and seven people were on the intelligence team. They were never seen around the building, and most of them slept at their desks. Keet handed me a Manila folded marked "classified" and put his hands in his pockets. "That's the information you currently need," he said. "Read up and get to work." He gestured to the cluster of almost bare desks all facing each other in the middle of the room, three on either side and one at the head, which was the director's desk. No one was there, so I just sat in the closest desk and flipped through the file:

_CASE: INTER-DISTRICT ORGANIZED CRIME SYNDICATE DRUG BUST, ("OP: POPPY").  
Summary: Opium grown illegally in the East has been found in every district but is only sold in the South. Members of organized crime syndicates previously at war have been seen together on numerous occasions._

_LIST OF SUSPECTS_

There was then a list of five or six names, and three were bolded, meaning they were most likely circulating the opium, dealing it, or leaders of the gang. Just as Skyloft City had five districts, it had five main gangs: Bokoblins of the North, South, East, and West, coined Boko-North, etc. All of the Bokoblin gangs were somewhat connected, but the gang in Central was the top dog: the Imprisoned. They were disconnected from the Bokos and were more a legitimate organized crime syndicate than kids with too much time on their hands: even though they hadn't moved in almost a year, they were a group of elusive terrorists that were always on the move. They could control the Bokoblins on a whim, and were the disconnected unofficial dictators of crime in the city. The Imprisoned was not on the list of suspects, just as I'd expected.  
The list gave the names, ages, addresses, and suspected gangs they were from.

_ITINERARY FOR DETECTIVE LINK  
Week of July 22: Dance lessons, club etiquette. Extensive research with director on suspects.  
Week of July 29: Dance lessons. Create fake identity. Apply for winter job.  
Week of August 5: Dance lessons. Costume fitting. Wipe current identity.  
Week of August 12: Dance lessons, club etiquette. Program equipment._

"Keet..." I said. "What is this?"  
He raised his eyebrows. "Didn't you read it, it's on the second page, under Duties. You'll be working undercover in a nightclub." I think I felt my eye twitch.  
"Why do I need dance lessons if I'm a bartender?"  
"You're working as the _entertainment_," he said, with extra emphasis on the last word. "You start next week."

I definitely felt my eye twitch.

"Don't worry, you have almost half a year to prepare," he said earnestly.

* * *

**_Author's note_**: Link as a stripper. The end. Kidding! We get to meet our main antagonist in two more chapters. Get pumped. Thanks for reading, reviews always welcome!


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